christianastor-blog

[christianastor-blog]

savagexlaina:

All Laina wanted was a little peace, it was the main reason she picked this random bar. Now here was someone who had to the potential of bringing attention to this side of the bar, which could bring attention to her. All things she didn’t want with the intentions of this outing. “Well good for you then.” She’d commented as he’d bragged about his hold on alcohol. She wasn’t sure what else to say, for one, she was already a couple drinks ahead of him, which was a large reason she continued this conversation and two; she’s reached the point of drunk where she oddly enough wants to talk to someone. This is a very small part of her, though it’s the more pushy part in this drunken state. 

At the mention of simply wanting to buy the drinks she then nodded and raised her glass slightly, “Alright, then.” Was all she said about the topic, as he continued to speak, she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh please, being a gentlemen? No, there’s not such thing as gentleman courtesy nowadays. You buy a woman a drink, because you want something. It’s as simple as that.” She stated as she then grabbed her drink for another sip. Laina has always been attracted to pure dirt and scum when it comes to relationships, which completely justifies and validates her harsh opinions on gentlemen courtesy, or chivalry.

The oder of cockiness breathing form this man’s pours almost made Laina truly walk away from this conversation. Though she didn’t. As he spoke began his last sentence, she’d taken a sip before bringing her focus directly to him. At the mention of hurting his ego, she pouted her lips over dramatically. “Oh, did the mean lady hurt your big head?” She spoke taking another sip before mentally saying, ‘fuck it.’ She wasn’t going to get into this, but she was drunk. “Let’s see. Christian Astor, born in the spotlight, with the big fancy house and the pretentious education. Then following in the family traditions in becoming state senate, which of course was only paid for by Daddy Warbucks himself.” She didn’t even bother taking a solid breath, she’d gotten herself completely bent out of shape about this man and his family, she wasn’t afraid to voice her opinion. Not in the slighest. “Then once you get the seat, all you’ve done is sit as a beard for your grandfather to truly finish his horrible plans and decisions for this state like he did when he was state senate.” She finally took a big enough breath to continue her final statement. “So my final thoughts. You’re a clueless fraud of a state senate.” 

Leaned forward on his elbows, Christian held the heavy crystal glass vaguely in his hand and swirling the golden liquid and listening to the faint sound of ice hitting the edges. He was smiling, amused, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment after she had finished her rant seeing as she was obviously getting worked up about it, and he felt entirely indifferent to the topic. He sipped his drink slowly, and placed the glass down with deliberate care before he finally huffed a chuckle and turned his head to look at her, “I beg to differ.”, was all he said, and then with a slight shrug as he reached for his drink again, he looked away from her and at the crowd with vague interest, “Just because you run in the wrong circles, doesn’t mean anything outside of it doesn’t exist – that’s a very narrow way of thinking.” A trace of a smirk curved in the corners of his lips as he observed a man passing by them with particular interest even though he was still talking to her, “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t want anything from you. And besides…”, he turned around to face the bar again, “That’s below me. I’m the one to whom people buy drinks, not the other way around. Social hierarchy and all that. I’ve never had to buy anything for them to want me, it’s just how it is.” It surprised him, how easily he slipped into his old skin – the arrogance he wore effortlessly and without an ounce of doubt – regardless of what his opinion was of it today, he still was who he was, who he had always been, and frankly, her attitude was precisely what brought out that side of him.

“No, not in particular.”, he let out a laugh, in response to her initial quip, amused by the obvious way alcohol had gotten to her, and she didn’t seem like she planned to stop anytime soon, so this was about to get amusing. “But you seem to take sadistic pleasure in being a bitch, so I’ll humour you. Let’s say you hurt my ego.” His eyes returned to her, and with a slightly raised eyebrow her urged her to continue, curious to see what was it that she thought she knew about him. Truth be told everyone thought they knew everything about him and his family, as if they were a sort of public good that was put there to amuse people who weren’t part of their world. Regardless of what was the truth, their lives were dissected and butchered and twisted to something that was so far from the truth Chris felt as if he were hearing about someone else. And all of that was amusing, right up until the point she got nasty. “Just one?”, he said suddenly, interrupting her, and his voice dripped with acid when he continued, “Don’t be ridiculous. One house.”, words came out derisive, “And it’s mansion, with an estate – one of many anyway.” It was unlike him to ever even talk about his family’s wealth, which went beyond what most could even imagine, unless he was messing around with someone like Carmen, talking about running away to Geneva with a private jet – but this girl, and her fierce belief that somehow she knew all about him, set him off. “Summa cum laude. You know what that is? Should I translate it for you?”, he cocked his head slightly, eyes unflinching as he looked at her, “That is what got me into the Senate. That and two Master’s from Yale.” If anyone had some strong opinions about his family, and his grandfather’s ways, it was definitely Christian, but as much as he was willing to discuss things like that – he wasn’t willing to listen to drunk girls going on rants without even having their facts straight. “I see you’ve been googling me. I don’t blame you, everyone does it.”, he said icily, and the smile on his lips was far too sweet to be genuine, “But how about you get your facts checked, huh? My grandfather was never in the Senate, nor was he ever publicly involved in politics. You see, we’re kind of too rich and too powerful to bother with that. Though I am not entirely sure what these horrible plans are exactly, so enlighten me, will you?” The smile disappeared from his lips then, and he drained his glass of its contents before deciding to add, coldly, “Besides. What idiot executes horrible plans publicly? My grandfather is eminence grise. I should probably translate that too, but why bother? Let’s just say that if I wanted to fuck around with my evil mastermind plans, I would’ve just kept pulling the strings from behind the curtain.” He turned in his chair then, to pour himself another drink and finish up this conversation, “Not clueless. That’s your job. What I am, is mildly vexed by your presence.”

[christianastor-blog]

[christianastor-blog]

I like to think a lot. In my mind, I see pictures, movies and sounds. Some are sad, some are happy, some are normal and some have no feeling. And once in a while you imagine something so perfect that you try to chase it, and try to find it in the void of real life. But like most things it can never be, and you’re stuck there playing that perfect movie, with that perfect person in the most perfect place, doing the most perfect of things.

the-young-and-bold

[christianastor-blog]

carmxnmoore:

There was something about Chris that was almost ineffably charming. Not in an overt way, not even in a way that seemed like he was trying; people who deliberately tried to be charming rarely impressed Carmen, or even moved her an iota. What the man in front of her had was a natural charisma, one that caused her to smile when he smiled, to laugh when he laughed, and to relax in an instant, content to fall into their mocking banter without a second thought. Even when he was a virtual stranger, their shared jokes and witty quips had bounced between the two in an effortless manner, and now that they were more familiar with each other, it was no different. “And here I thought age was only a number,” Carmen huffed indignantly, making a show of rolling her eyes petulantly, her very words and actions merely serving to prove his point. Managing to keep a straight face for only a few seconds, she then broke out into a wide, amused grin. “I may be young, but I harbour wisdom beyond my years. For example, I acknowledge that your snobbishness is, indeed, endearing. That has to be worth at least two books.”

Bringing her cup to her lips, the brunette thought briefly about her time away; about the routines that she had managed to establish, how she had made herself at home not only in Elijah’s bookstore, but in his apartment, and how there had been days when she had thought to herself that she could get used to that life. Days when she seriously considered never coming back to this one. And Carmen hadn’t, really, not entirely. She still couldn’t get used to waking up in her own room. She couldn’t even bring herself to bring all of her things home. And for a moment, she wondered if it had been the same for Chris. If he had considered never returning. “After you show me your library? And here I was hoping you were going to invite me to Geneva,” she joked, the unserious nature of her comment evident in the sparkle in her eyes. “I wouldn’t say worked, but I helped out. Did enough inventory to know the place like the back of my hand. When I take you there, I’ll give you the grand tour, as long as you know there’s a slight risk that I might never leave your place if your library is as extensive as you claim.”

It was easy, lighthearted; and honestly, Carmen could scarcely remember the last time that being in HQ had left her in such good spirits. Although her mood was most likely a direct result of her company, and the effect that he had on her, rather than the space that they occupied. In her experience, it took a special kind of messed up to find a sense of humour in one’s own dysfunction; the kind that could literally bond two people by sheer virtue of their shared understanding of that morbid amusement. “If we do that, I give them a month, tops. Although that might be too generous.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, before breaking out into a rather large smile, soft laughter filling the air around them as she reached for the book that was placed on the table. “’I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal.’,” she quoted while studying the cover, thumb brushing through the pages. It had always been in her nature to remember the words that resonated with her the most. Looking up, she shrugged slighty. “I’ve only read it once, though. Perhaps I should amend that.“

There was always something in genuine laugh of people around him that appealed to Christian on a sort of aesthetic level. Though no laugh was the same, some loud and some quiet, soft or awkward with little hiccups, what they all had in common were the crinkles that appeared in the corners of the eyes, and the glint in them that always made Christian smile a little, as if it was the one thing really worth drawing out in people. Genuine, unexpected laughs, not prompted by some personal agenda, but solely by the inner delight. So whenever Carmen laughed at his words, at some half-sardonic remark delivered with a grin, or the easy banter between them - he could not help but stop to look at her, his smile distracted. “Oh is it now? I thought it was something only old people said to make themselves feel better. Though my perception of how old is old has shifted over time.”, he let out a small laugh at the memory of himself back in boarding school, horribly vain and convinced he might never age, “I remember discussing with my friends how we saw no point in anyone over 35 keeping on living. Which gives me about... year and a half?” But the kids that they were, they thought the world would never change, that somehow they’d remain frozen in that school, forever young, forever learning, forever together. “You harbour wisdom beyond your years?”, Chris repeated before a short burst of laughter interrupted his words, and it took him a moment to get his voice in control again and look at the girl, “How modest. Forgive my ignorance, I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of a philosopher. Where’d you get that wisdom from, Happy Meal?”, but his tone was laced with so much amusement, and he couldn’t even keep a straight face, that it was obvious he said it for sake of their faux-banter. Carmen was the last person he would judge by her age. “You’re appealing to my vanity, and it’s working, damn you. Fine. Two books it is, but I get to choose one of them, as a recommendation. Fair?” 

Chris had just brought the cup to his lips and was about to sip at the hot liquid, when Carmen’s words jolted him from his silent contemplation about that amazingly creamy coffee he had in Trieste. Somehow, even after having a few run-ins like this one before, Carmen still managed to come up with comebacks that would surprise Chris for a moment as his eyes turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Geneva?”, he repeated, but only to buy himself a moment to school his futures into his usual smirk, “Please. It’s only a modest house we have there, it’d probably be a huge letdown. But that Côte d'Azur villa...”, his contemplative features were broken by the sudden chuckle that left his lips and the way his face lit up again, “See, when you think I can’t get more pretentious. I do. I actually take it as a challenge.” It wasn’t like Chris was unaware of how he could come off when talking about his family belongings, and over the past year he had actually gotten better at controlling what he said, so right now he was making a mockery of it all, blowing it way out of proportion, even if that house on the French riviera wasn’t a lie at all. “Well, we can start with the library. See if you’re worthy, and then I might get you on the jet and take you to Admont Abbey. And since you seem to have friends who like books, they’re invited.” As he said it, the grin on his face widened, and he chose to let the thought appear real for a second, and push aside the reality - the one that didn’t really allow people like them to just leave and go tour old European libraries. “Oh well hey, you’re welcome to stay if you don’t mind me blasting The Smiths or playing Vivaldi at random times during the night. Because it is extensive, and I’m talking floor to ceiling extensive. It’s one hell of a tall ceiling.” 

Sipping his coffee, Chris couldn’t help but laugh into his cup, shaking his head as he put it back on the table in front of him and leaned forward to rest his elbows against it. He was thoroughly enjoying how Carmen just easily fired back with the same amount of dark humour he employed. It was easy talking to her, it came to him naturally, and for the first time in the last month he realised just how much he had missed this - the HQ, the people, his friends. “Oh come on, they should be thanking us - it’s us, the delightfully dysfunctional, that bring food to their tables.”, he was still grinning, but then his eyes suddenly turned back to Carmen as if some grand idea popped into his mind, “Okay but imagine if we had a gang therapist, I’m not talking Elektra, I’m talking someone who would specialise just in that. Honestly, I don’t think getting one of those would be enough, we’d need something more the size of a football team.” He looked down at his coffee again, smile still wide on his face, and he thought about how strangely aware of it he was, as if his features have forgotten how to smile over the course of the year. “Oh wow, is there anything you don’t know about literature? I feel like I’m being challenged.”, but the delight on his features contradicted his teasing words, and as he looked at the book, frayed around the edges from all the times he had read it or just opened it to read certain parts, he suddenly spoke, “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.” Perhaps it was so because it was one of many parts of the book Chris could connect to on a whole other level, but thinking about why he picked that quote out of so many he was fond of, was a deep and dark corner of his mind he didn’t want to go into now. “You definitely should. And you should read about Mary’s life, if you haven’t already. It’s... something else.”, he paused for a moment, distractedly looking at the book in her hands, before jolting from thought and looking up at her, “What about Percy, you read anything from him?”

[christianastor-blog]

[christianastor-blog]

[christianastor-blog]

I regretted not being kinder while we still had time. That was all. I wish I had told her she was worth the Earth and the stars and that I loved her. I wish I had reminded her of it every day and night. That’s the thing. You always forget to remind people when you think you’ll have them forever.

Sue Zhao

[christianastor-blog]

[christianastor-blog]

samantharedford:

@christianastor

She sat on the edge of the desk, close enough that if she turned to look she could very clearly see what was happening amongst the papers, yet far enough that she wasn’t disturbing anything. Her head was turned to the wide window unblinkingly watching the world beyond the pane. If someone had asked a week ago if she was to be found there Samantha would have called the person in question an idiot. Yet the redhead was much like an elephant in the sense where she never forgot a tiny bit of kindness another person would offer her. Something that was quite easy to do when you grew up with very few nice things offered. So while she found the man at the desk unbearably awful at time she also found his presence today nice. She’d arrived before he had once more picking the lock, yet this time simply sitting at the desk staring out the window, leaving everything else be, she’d never sought out silence before. Never in the past year had Samantha thought she’d avoid the HQ but following the massacre and her conversation with Carmen it was exactly what she’d done. The older girl had asked her if she’d blamed her and the answer that she thought maybe she did had been likely of no surprise to the pair. It’d be silly to expect everyone to react in the same manner that she would, not everyone played with fire as literally and figuratively as the redhead did. Yet she knew she’d happily have died if it meant taking down as many of the perpetrators as she could in the act. She didn’t wish Carmen was dead, but she did wish she’d acted even if it had left her dead. Two things which didn’t feel as similar as they were. Yet it ate at her and before she could even mull it over the question was escaping her lips.  “Can you not want a person dead but at the same time wish they had done something that would have ended with them being dead now? Is that… bad?” Good and bad had never been something she’d mulled over before, it’d seemed inconsequential in a life so gray. Now like the desire for silence it seemed to be clinging to the corners of her mind. “I mean I get it’s bad, that’s probably not arguable but…” She dropped off dragging in a sigh. “Whatever, it’s stupid.”

In midst of haste and clamour of the New York City, the impossible white vastness of Geneva seemed like something from a dream - distant and fading and far too good to be true, much less something he had experienced only twenty-four hours ago. As he drove through the busy streets, back in his usual meticulously planned three-piece he couldn’t quite come to terms with the digits in the upper left corner of the screen in his car - even the time felt wrong, and yet despite all those discrepancies, he could not find it in himself to feel unsettled - strange, yes, but the thoughts that plagued his mind were hardly a fraction of what he was going through when he left New York that winter morning a month ago. The trip, despite the nuisance that came with having to contact mommie dearest for keys to the lake house, did its job perfectly and left him more at peace than he could’ve ever hoped, restoring some version of sanity and his usual persona, minus the negativity that seemed to loom above his head at all times since the massacre. This was why, when he walked into the HQ that morning he didn’t head straight for the office, but rather chose to stop by the kitchen and observe the little notes plastered everywhere as the coffee brewed - coffee, not whiskey, he didn’t need alcohol this early, and he honestly hoped there wouldn’t be any unforeseen twists to make him need it sooner than he thought. He had missed it, the soul of this place, no matter how much he enjoyed the rich mahogany and gold and marble of his great-grandfather's lake house, or the deafening quiet of the lake in early mornings where he could be alone with his thoughts - he couldn’t see the metaphorical blood on its walls, just a place that took him in when he thought he had reached the end of the road. It was almost ironic then, that what he thought would be a peaceful first morning at work would be interrupted by one person he was fairly certain would definitely not come say hello when he returned from his... vacation. “Oh for the love of God.”, the door swung open when he pushed the key in, already having been unlocked for who knows how long before he arrived, and he stood in the doorway for a moment, briefcase in hand, mug in the other and eyes on the tiny ball of anger on his desk. “Which part of don’t break into my office eludes you? I could draw it for you? Apply you to charm school and drag you there. I could do that you know, you weigh 90 pounds soaking wet.” But his inquiries, half exasperated and half amused, were met by her own set of questions, strange and completely out of place with how she usually behaved, and Christian closed the door behind him and swore under his breath when he figured he’d have to invest in a new lock, again. “I’ll just get a digital one, you seem to be awful with tech stuff, almost as awful as you are at grasping the concept of, I don’t know... waiting for me to actually unlock the door and let you in?” He was till going at it, even as he moved to close the space between them and put his stuff down, seemingly unperturbed by her presence on his desk and all too focused on everything other than her questions. But there was only so much attention he could pay to rearranging his things and sipping his coffee as he shrugged off the suit jacket, remaining in his waistcoat, before she produced that sigh and he finally gave in, “Oh fine, you win.”, the metal case of his Davidoff rattled against the glass of the table as he threw it there and finally leant against the desk beside her. He could tell he’d probably regret it, but he didn’t have it in himself to ignore her when she was obviously messed up, all horrible orange... excuse for a sweater and shoulders hunched forward so that she seemed even more ridiculously tiny, “Sure you can.” He considered his words for a second, finding that without his usual gloomy state of mind it seemed harder to find good examples for the fucked up psychological topics, “When I was twenty my grandfather’s private jet had to have a forced landing. Mother called me to tell me, and first thing I asked her was - is he dead?”, the cadence of his voice remained neutral, as if he were talking about some trivial memory that he felt entirely indifferent to, maybe even a little amused, “Sure I mean I was drunk out of my mind, but the point still stands - the man just had a bad landing, and I had already planned his funeral in my head. I thought about it later on, when I sobered up, and I knew that I didn’t want him dead, but I wished some inexplicable twist of fate, that would be out of my control, took care of that.” He stopped speaking, and turned his eyes to her now, since he had been staring at the distant buildings through the window as he spoke, “I have a feeling that’s not what you asked. Right?”, a heavy sigh escaped him, not particularly annoyed or anything, more like something that was supposed to give him a moment to think and fill the silence, “Kid, look, this sounds like a Schrödinger's cat type of thing. If you asked a shrink, he’d tell you it’s cognitive dissonance. You know what that is?”, he reached for his cigarette pack then, held it open for her to take if she wanted before putting one between his lips and playing with his zippo for a moment, opening, closing, twisting it fluidly between his fingers in some old tricks he learned long, long time ago, “It’s not stupid. I don’t even think it’s bad, though that’s a relative term. But I’m going to need more than an angsty teen sigh to give you constructive feedback. Not like I can kick you out, I’m afraid you might come back to set my office on fire or something, but I can go back to asshole mode if that’s what you prefer. Or, you could just tell me why you’re here?”, he chuckled under his breath, almost derisively, “I mean not for the advice I hope, because seriously Ariel, I’m the guy that has whiskey for breakfast and more fuck ups than I care to count. I’m also resident asshole when it comes to you, though that’s on you for breaking into my office, twice.”

[christianastor-blog]

People think being alone makes you lonely, but I don’t think that’s true. Being surrounded by the wrong people is the loneliest thing in the world.

Kim Culbertson, The Liberation of Max McTrue

[christianastor-blog]

[christianastor-blog]

annexmargel:

“Okay…” Anne winced as she crossed her right arm over her chest and held it in place with the left. Gently, she stretched, switching arms, stretching them behind her back and shaking them loose. Hallie hadn’t been kind to her during their last training session. It had been one of the harder days, more intense, faster, in order to make Anne stronger. Now her body felt like a combination of jello and lead. Lowering herself to the ground, Annd prepared herself to do a push-up. One, simple, measly push-up. She got in position and pushed herself off the ground…

“Merde.” Anne swore, rubbing her chin when she noticed a silhouette cast a shadow over her as she laid there. “Come to laugh?” She muttered half-heartedly, rolling over to gaze up at the person.

When Christian picked up his gym bag from the floor by the door of his office that afternoon, it was the first time in months that he did it with a feeling of anticipation that he always used to feel before going to gym and that would only be satisfied once he had pushed himself to the limits. Four weeks in Geneva, away from the clamour and violence of NYC - it made him feel like he was himself again, and so when he walked into the Heart’s gym, he overlooked a figure on the floor and headed straight for the bench to drop the bag with the equipment. The dull thud of a body hitting the ground startled him in midst of pulling out a water bottle and he pivoted around to be met with a vaguely familiar silhouette on the floor. “And here I was thinking I wouldn’t hear French for a while.”, he put the water bottle down to cross the distance between them and come to a halt next to the girl, amusement lining his voice. “Tu t’en sors?” The words rolled easily off his tongue, the language as familiar to him as English might be, “Forgive the accent, it’s been a while since I’ve been to France, and Geneva doesn’t really compare.” As the girl turned on her back, Christian recognised her as part of the team of thieves, the only section he actually had some contact with given that he worked in finance. “Autorise-moi.”, he offered his hand to help her up, a smile on his lips, “No. I didn’t come to laugh, not at you at least.”, he chuckled under his breath, “I’ve come to get rid o extra energy, it’s been a while and I just got off a 9 hour long flight so...”, there was a pause, a heartbeat passed and then he decided it wouldn’t hurt to say what was on his mind, “Your posture’s wrong, that’s all. You could hurt yourself worse than this if you keep doing it the wrong way, you know. I can help if you’d like, though I’m nowhere near as good as Hallie.” 

[christianastor-blog]

savagexlaina:

Laina looked at the man coming up to her side and sitting in the empty bar stool, she’d taken a sip of her drink. She’d turned her head as he continued to obviously start a conversation with her, she sighed. “Sure, you may be right. Though in this moment in time, I couldn’t give a shit about tomorrow. I’ll deal with it when we get there.” She’d commented, halfway through her response her eye contacted averted his and she’d stared down at her drink, then up at the wall behind the bar. She could feel his eyes on her, and strictly out of curiosity she’d turned her head and made eye contact with him for the first time. When the bartender had given the man his attention, she’d overheard his orders. “Hey, wait.” she’d tried interjecting though the bartender clearly couldn’t hear her protest, she’d assumed because of the current music volume. She watched as the bartender walked away and began to work out this man’s orders, she couldn’t help but wonder who this guy was. 

“You didn’t need to do that. I know how to pay for my own drinks.” She’d spoken simply to prove herself to be able to afford the lifestyle she’d wanted. If she wanted to drink a hundred dollars or more, she knew she could afford it she didn’t need to be saved. At the comment of missing the busy city, it didn’t really peak her interest to want to continue the conversation. She didn’t care for his travels, his lifestyle, she didn’t care to know any information about him or how he lived. At the mention of the time, she sighed, put her drink down and shook her hand, to help gravity slide her watch down her wrist. “It’s 10:30PM Eastern Time.” She spoke. As he’d offered her hand as an introduction, she was originally going to shrug him off. Though as he clearly knew her, he’d finally peaked her interest. She’d looked at him as he essentially profiled her, though clearly not an expert as he only skimmed the surface. She’d stayed calm as he named her employment, her cover and her real job, her name, she couldn’t let him think he was scaring her if that was his tactic. As she stared at his face, her brain had clued her in why there was something familiar about him. In that moment and in this state of mind, she saw him as the man on the news. “Where have I seen you before?” She spoke, completely changing the subject and projecting the spotlight off her and onto him. “Oh, you’re that Christian Astor.” She’d spoken, rolling her eyes.

At first, Christian only chuckled in response - a soft sound muted by the surrounding music but visible in the way he leaned his elbows against the surface of the bar, swirling the golden liquid in his glass lazily before tipping it abruptly back and draining the crystal of its contents. Whiskey burned his throat, felt familiar on his tongue, and when he set it down he called the bartender over to tell him to just bring the rest of the bottle. “Oh, I know I’m right.”, he spoke finally, not looking at her as he poured another glass for himself, “Years of experience. Though if you’re devoted to the cause after a while you build up resistance. I can go like this all night and look presentable in the morning.” Corners of his lips quirked up in a sort of sardonic smirk - if anything Chris could hold his liquor, he had been at it for a while - yet given the soft blur in Laina’s eyes when she looked at him, he guessed this was not her first drink tonight, or her last. It amused him, this carelessness about the consequences of a night of drinking, but he didn’t particularly care for the reasons behind it - everyone in this city was self-destructive to greater or lesser degree. 

He was sipping his second drink when she spoke again, and his response consisted of a languid, unconcerned shrug of his shoulders, followed by a chuckle, “I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.”, placing his glass down evenly, he finally turned to look at the woman beside him, “No one said you didn’t know how to pay for your own drinks, but I can’t help myself. It wouldn’t be particularly gentlemanly of me if I didn’t offer to pay, and I’m afraid I follow that particular code to a fault.” It wasn’t a lie, and he said it rather noncommittally as his eyes curiously scanned the people surrounding them, all at least slightly intoxicated. Christian had been raised in a particular way, and for all his distaste for the hard-headed, conservative views of his grandfather, he did believe in a certain code of conduct, some form of tradition and decency. That isn’t to say he expected anything in return - no, it came to him as naturally as breathing, and he couldn’t quite shake it, not even when he was mad. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t go out of his way to be a gentleman - all sharp suits and impeccable manners. Poise and sophistication and detached stoicism, even when the world is falling apart around you, that’s something his mother had taught him, something he valued above all else. Perhaps it was vanity. He didn’t care. Just the way he wasn’t particularly affected by the woman’s glacial demenaour. If others chose to be rude to him, though he found it distasteful, he remained rather indifferent to it, only offering another one of his charming smiles and a simple thank you for her reply about time.

But despite her very pointed disinterest when they first started talking, he noticed she was now looking at him, studying his features with her brows knitted together as if she were trying to place his face.  “GQ probably.”, he offered playfully, his tone was laced with that undeniable streak of cockiness that came with a few downed drinks and the fact he was in a rather good mood today. This sort of brashness, though justified by his name alone (and that one cover of GQ), was usually just a joke for him - he never really had the need to flaunt who he was the way that new money did, but here and then, usually depending on the company he was keeping, he’d let it slip, for the sake of amusement, not actual distasteful arrogance. “Well, in all fairness, not many Astors out there. We’re kind of a dying breed.”, he said, choosing to ignore the theatrical roll of her eyes for now, “But yes, I’m that Christian Astor.” Whatever the hell that meant. Who he was in the eye of the public was usually distinctly at odds with who he was in private, when cameras shut down and no one was around. Heir to a fortune. Bright young senator. Devoted husband. Tragically widowed. Hiding from the public eye. Most of all, he was just really, really messed up. He downed his drink, and decided that he wouldn’t let one reminder ruin a month he spent recovering from this sort of bullshit in Geneva. Instead, he turned around to face her, neatly rearranging the delicate cuff links with a cheeky smirk, “But you seem to already have your own idea of who I am, so why don’t you share it with me? Indulge me, I’m curious and you did kind of impair my ego with the whole… cold disinterest thing.” Well that was a lie, he didn’t actually care enough to be hurt, but it was a charming lie, one he considered to be entirely justified as he poured himself another drink and raised his eyebrow in an amused inquiry. 

[christianastor-blog]

There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark… Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.

Sara Zarr, Sweethearts

[christianastor-blog]

I am an incurable romantic. I believe in hope, dreams and decency, love, tenderness, and kindness. I believe in mankind.

Leonard Nimoy 

[christianastor-blog]

I felt things would doubtless continue in this depressing vein as far as I could foresee. ― donna tartt, the secret history

[christianastor-blog]